


Outed

by PipMer



Series: Parties [6]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: 221B Ficlet, Drabble Sequence, Drunk!Mycroft - Freeform, Fluff, Gen, Humour
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-10
Updated: 2012-11-10
Packaged: 2017-11-18 09:21:50
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 221
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/559390
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PipMer/pseuds/PipMer
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Even when drunk, Mycroft is still himself.  Written in response to a request for more drunk!Mycroft.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Outed

**Author's Note:**

  * For [prettybirdy979](https://archiveofourown.org/users/prettybirdy979/gifts).



> prettybirdy979 requested more Drunk!Mycroft. I was more than happy to oblige.
> 
> This immediately follows [Proposal by Proxy](http://archiveofourown.org/works/557414), in which Mycroft gets drunk at Sherlock and John's New Year's Eve party.

 

 

 

“Greg?  Gregory… L’strade?”

 

Lestrade sighed.  “Yes, Mycroft?”  He was leading a very uncoordinated, very drunk Mycroft Holmes from the Baker Street flat and trying to get him to put one foot in front of the other so that he could bundle him into the black car idling at the kerb. 

 

“D’tective ‘spector?  Why do you have your arm ‘round me?  Why do we have our arms ‘round each other?  Where’s my brother?”

 

Greg rolled his eyes.  “Your brother thinks it’s beneath him to help his own flesh and blood get home safely, so it’s up to me, the proper policeman.  Come on now, just a few more steps and you can lie down while your driver takes you home.  I think I can at least trust _him_ to take over for me,” he muttered under his breath.

 

“G’egory, you have nice hair.  It smells nice,” Mycroft remarked, apropos of nothing.  “It has the same smell as Mish… Miss Hooper’s.”

 

Greg blushed.  He cleared his throat and said, “Yes, we, ah… use the same brand of shampoo.”

 

“Not jus’… not jus’ the same brand; the same bottle, I’m thinkin’,” Mycroft slurred knowingly.

 

Bloody hell, Greg thought.  Even stinking drunk the man was still more observant than Sherlock was stone-sober.  Couldn't he hide  _anything_ from the Holmes’s? 

 

“No,” Mycroft said triumphantly.

 

Lestrade blinked.

 

 


End file.
